Souls Worn Thin
by Scarred DNA
Summary: L/Light. Kira dies with Higuchi. The bond between L and Light remains; but they live separate lives. Now, 8 years later, tragedy strikes – and their relationship is again tested by both circumstance and personal tribulation. Yaoi. CANCELLED.
1. Prologue: Falling Through Thin Ice

**Tunes in Profile:**

_Cumbersome_

_Hey You

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**Prologue: Falling Through Thin Ice**

**-**_Secondary: **Hephaestion**_

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Pale fingers busied themselves with peeling thin, black plastic away from a chocolate truffle as bony knees took over the job of controlling the steering wheel above them. Ever-vigilant, ink-black eyes continuously switched focus between the treat being stripped of its wrapper, and the road behind it. L took his time, peeling and turning, until he could discard the wrapper in the seat beside him and pop the candy in his mouth whole just as he came upon his turn. With perfect timing, chocolate-smudged fingers reassumed their duty of controlling the vehicle and gripped the wheel in an underhanded left turn off the main road.

Trees overhead on either side turned this driveway into a sort of cement grotto, their foliage canopy overhead giving one the impression of driving through a hidden cave. During the day, sunlight would flicker and strobe through certain, small spots in the covering; but at night, it was as black as pitch but for the headlights of his car. One of the principal reasons L had purchased this property – the surrounding woods of the estate kept his home out of sight from the main road.

He kept his speed under 25 km, given the obscenely late hour of his arrival, and used the extra time to enjoy another truffle from the bag sitting open in the center console. Again, he steered the Mercedes with his knees while his hands removed the wrapper and tossed it into the passenger seat. This one, he carefully bit in half, and then licked at the liquid center a few times before tossing back the other half.

"Open gate door." He droned around the melted mass of chocolate in his mouth when the entrance came into view. A soft chime from the car's speakers indicated a recognized command, followed by the sound of a heavy metal lock being disengaged. L braked, and waited as a concrete, computer controlled entry gate slid to one side to disappear behind the matching wall it was attached to.

L pulled the car forward, the sound of the gate closing behind him coming through the open sunroof. He resumed his previous speed, and turned the headlights off – able to see the white of the road without them.

The distance from the entrance to the house was much longer than from the main road to the entrance, so L had plenty of time to shove three more truffles into his mouth before concrete turned into the slate-colored cobblestone of a circular driveway. He parked the S-Class alongside a wine red Acura SUV already parked in front of the house, and shut the car off. Grabbing the bag of truffles, he then stepped out – his eyes fixed on the Acura as he closed his own door and pressed the locking symbol on his electronic key.

Normally, the SUV would be parked in the garage; L couldn't recall a time ever when the car was left out, and especially at almost two 'o clock in the morning. He shuffled toward it, and stopped to peer into the passenger side window – cupping his hands around his face to block the glare of the driveway lighting overhead, truffle bag still clutched in one of them.

There was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see – the interior looked pristine and unused just as it always did. He stepped back, and then walked around the vehicle in a once over to see if maybe there was some damage from an accident that he was meant to see. But there was nothing – not even a scratch of the paint.

L turned, and looked to the two-story country home looming above him – a rectangular structure of pale grey-blue brick and stone. All was dark, but for the entry lights left on for his sake, which usually meant everyone was already asleep. He looked back at the car – wondering at its deviation a moment more before leaving it and heading for the front door.

Three short steps led into a covered veranda with stone cherub statues in its corners and several different kinds of now quiet wind chimes hanging from its roof. L waved the same remote he used for his car at a digital panel next to the door, and waited for the display to read 'Unlocked' in blue before pushing down on the doorhandle. He closed it quietly behind him, and re-enabled the security system using another panel by the door that corresponded to the same one outside.

In the foyer, L stepped out of his sneakers and dropped his truffle bag on the table next to several objects left by others; the electronic key to the Acura outside, outgoing mail, a child's handheld Kindle. Nothing worth wasting time on, when L had other things in mind. Pivoting on his bare feet, he moved from the entrance hall to the kitchen, only glancing into the darkened living area on his way to make sure it was empty.

Dark wooden flooring under his feet turned into the cold, green marbling of the kitchen – its cherry cabinets an odd match against the black granite countertops. On one such countertop, L spotted a glass cake dome in the dim light given off by small fixtures set in the wall above it. He couldn't tell what, exactly, was in it; but it made no difference when that cake platter was reserved for _only_ the kind of dessert he would eat, so he grabbed a fork on his way to commandeer it.

He took it upstairs – platter and all – to his private office where he did his work when he was home, balancing the cake in one hand and a cup of cold coffee from the refrigerator in the other as he silently moved up the steps.

The study was one of the largest rooms in the house, only outdone by the master bedroom and the living room – neither of which he spent very much time in these days. If he was home, he was usually locked away in his office – hard at work at whatever such thing had caught his fancy, and almost impossible to pull away unless for very good reason.

L made straight for the centerpiece of the room – an oversized desk on which sat his laptop and several piles of paperwork. Careful not to spill anything, he set first the cup and saucer and then the cake platter on the glass-covered cherry wood, next to his computer. And as quickly as he could, he retraced his steps back to close the door gently.

A moment later, his reason for doing so exploded into excited life just as he turned the knob for lights to half intensity.

"_Hephaestion_." L greeted back, his deep tone contrasting sharply against the light, sing-song chirping suddenly coming from a large, covered cage set on a pedestal a few feet from his desk. The sound of his voice only intensified the high-pitched noise – its musical calls demanding attention from him. L complied, pulling the shroud from the cage and opening the door to stick his hand in.

A Violet Masked Lovebird wasted no time in dropping from its wooden perch and onto L's long fingers – its tiny feet curling around them as he pulled the bird from its cage. Hephaestion was almost all a dark lavender color, except for the black dusting on his head and the pale cobalt of his tail. He was a small bird – resembling that of a miniature parrot that could fit in the palm of one's hand.

But Hephaestion wasn't a hand bird; he was a hair bird. And as soon as L cleared him from his cage and brought his hand up, Hephaestion took flight – winging his way above L to lower himself in the mess of raven's feathers on his head. L looked upward, as if he could see the bird, and waited for him to settle down in the center of that black jungle before returning to his desk.

First with one foot, and then the other; L stepped into his chair and lowered himself into an oddly angled crouch. Cake was first, and he ignored everything else as he removed the dome from the platter, brandished the fork that had been inside, and dug into the Red-Velvet cake with butter cream icing. Hephaestion watched from above, making little jumps toward the back of his nest as L leaned forward into his cake.

Over half of it had already been eaten, by whom L already knew, so it took him no time at all to finish it off. He saved the cherries that had been on top for last – four for him and one for Hephaestion who flew down to the tabletop on his whistle to take it from his pale fingertips.

"Seed is for the birds, _Phaestion_." He told the bird when it finished, watching as its little head turned to look up at him – black beady eyes regarding him from this angle and that angle.

The tiniest semblance of a smile L gave him before moving to clean his mess and push the platter to one corner of the desk free of paper. Next, he opened his laptop and pressed the power button before taking a sip of his coffee, which he placed to the left of his computer. All that remained was to wait for his laptop to boot, and he'd be ready to work the night through.

And just as his owner had work to do, so did Hephaestion. The lovebird made little hops toward the closest pile of paperwork behind L's laptop, his tiny feet clicking against the hard glass, and stretched his head up to grab the topmost piece of paper with his beak. L would work, and Hephaestion would shred for his nest, even though his mate X_ander _was thousands of miles away.

In Japan. Seemingly a world away – distant and out of reach. Stupid bird. What good was a nest if it couldn't be shared because the other half of you was so far away it _hurt_?

L inspected the paper he chose, making sure it was nothing important, and then returned his attention to his computer as it finally finished loading. Almost immediately, an instant message window popped up in bright white with bold, black text.

_**Xander has started nesting.**_

L smiled at the message as his fingers keyed out a fast reply. _**Phaestion, too.**__** He's shredding**__** a release form. Why are you up so late?**_

_**. . . waiting on you,**_ came the reply a few seconds later. _**Georgi called me today.**_

_**Regarding?**_ L asked, playfully pulling at Hephaestion's paper as he waited. The bird chirped loudly at him, and snatched the paper back.

_**I don't know. I was in a meeting with the Commissioner and I didn't pick it up. She left a message that said she wanted to speak with me at my earliest convenience. **_

_**She wanted to talk to you about your visit, most likely. To discuss and plan ahead. You know how excited she gets with you.**_ L typed back.

_**I don't know, Ryu. She sounded funny. Have you spoken to her?**_

Dilated eyes narrowed at the screen as L keyed his message. _**No, my plane landed a few hours ago and I just got in. Define 'funny', please.**_

A reply didn't come immediately, so L watched Phaestion pick at his paper until he caught movement on his screen. _**Funny as in 'I've figured you out' funny. **_

L read the message, and then re-read it again, scratching behind his ear as he did so. _**Nonsense.**_ L typed shortly, still reading the previous entry.

_**That's what my reason tells me – that I'm paranoid and overreacting. But L . . .  
. . . you should hear the message. There's just something . . . off about it. **_

L typed the words 'Don't bother, you _are_ paranoid'; but his finger hovered over the 'Enter' key as the Acura outside flashed in his mind. It was so unusual . . . so _not_ routine. He erased the text, and input new text. _**Send it, please.**_

_**Just a moment . . . **_

As he waited, L watched Hephaestion discard his paper, having tired of it, and hop to the far left of the desk to go for a packet of folded stationary sitting on top of a pile of pictures from the current case he was working on. It looked important, though he didn't at all recall having put it there, so he plucked it from the bird's mouth and unfolded it to make sure it was shred-material. Hephaestion followed it, ready to start work on it as soon as L gave it back.

Movement in his peripheral vision indicated the response he'd been waiting for, and his lovebird called to him for the return of its nest material; but L ignored them both – his eyes fastened on the paper in his hands. He recognized it immediately . . . he didn't need to read it to know _exactly_, word for word, what it said. It was, now, a matter of who else had read the letter and left it there and how they'd come across it, and a contemplation of that 'who' that sent heart-tightening fear into his chest as he stared at the carefully – _perfectly_ – handwritten words of passion that were meant for _no_ eyes but the darkest depths of his own.

L slammed the lid of his laptop down with more force than he'd meant to, and Hephaestion bolted in a flutter of violet wings to the security of his cage – his chirping strangely absent. L barely noticed, so loud was the buzzing of his own quickened heartbeat in his ears. His cheeks felt hot, burning really; but the rest of him was cold – that frozen numbness that came with the sudden, choking realization that the worst possible scenario one feared was finally upon them.

The reasonable course of action, L knew, was to sit there and calm down. But he didn't want to sit anymore – he was dizzy from sitting, all of a sudden. So he unfolded his legs and stood; the letter clutched tightly in his skeletal fingers. And once he stood, there was nothing else preventing him from half-running his way to the door and then out into the hallway, almost tripping over his jeans that were too baggy around his ankles.

He navigated his way through the dark hallway, around the corner, and to the entrance of the master bedroom; even though later on when questioned he would never be able to explain to anyone how he did so. The door was open, as were the curtains around the window, and L could see in the moonlight three people huddled together under the sheets of the oversized bed. He stopped several feet from the foot of the bed and stared at them, his eyes fixed and unblinking and intense.

A part of him that he'd spent years keeping separate from another, equally precious part of him because neither of them he could bring himself to give up. Now, he would have to. She wouldn't tolerate it. He knew that. He'd be forced to choose – to relinquish one or the other completely. Something L couldn't imagine doing, much less make a decision on. And his children . . .

His _children_.

His fear intensified when he thought of how it would go with them, a feeling similar to as if a serpent had coiled itself around his heart and squeezed.

He barely had time for them, so busy he was with all the other facets of his life. He was stretched so thin, like the last bit of paint being rolled onto a wall, all because he just _had_ to have his cake and eat it to. He had to have every little thing, and could never leave well-enough alone. A sometimes problematic trait of his personality that Watari had constantly warned him about, and worked to control.

L had the urge to call the old man now – to seek his advice on how to handle the situation. But just as quick as it had entered his mind, L pushed it away. He was 32 years old . . . capable of handling his own problems . . . and possibly overreacting. Hopefully, overreacting. Maybe it had been one of the children who'd gotten into his personal correspondence and just left the letter there because he or she had thought it the right thing to do. Maybe–

A head popped up, its mop of ebony hair mussed and unruly from laying on the pillow, and turned toward L so he could see his own dark eyes set in a tiny version of his pallid face. A vision that calmed him almost immediately, and brought all his racing thoughts to a blissful standstill. He stuffed the letter in one of the back pockets of his jeans, and advanced.

The boy watched him closely, his gaze following L as he approached and moved around the foot of the bed to stand beside it. He brought a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, before lightly pulling back the sheet and grabbing the boy under the arms to lift him into his embrace. The warmth of skinny little arms went about his neck, just as legs curled themselves around L's slender waist to hook at the small of his back.

He carried his son down the hallway and into a doorway just before his office on the same side.

"Can you sleep on your own?" L whispered before turning down the covers and lowering him into his own bed. The boy nodded, shoved a thumb in his mouth, and rolled over onto his side – his legs momentarily flailing against the constriction of pajamas before becoming still. He was gone, even before L drew the covers over him and pressed his lips to his forehead in a goodnight kiss.

He closed the door behind him, and retraced his steps back to the master for his youngest. She was still sleeping, nuzzled against her mother under the sheets, and it took some effort to detach her and lift her into his arms without waking either of them. She, too, had L's coloring; but instead of blown black, her eyes were a steel-blue color. A combination L suspected would end up becoming more grey as she got older.

Her room was the other way – all the way at the end of the hall in one corner of the house. L nudged the door open all the way with a foot, walked as slow as the emotion bubbling inside him would allow, and turned the covers down on her bed that they'd set against the far wall because she had a habit of rolling right out it – always to her left. She didn't stir, even when L leaned over to deposit her tiny form on the mattress and pull the bedclothes over her. He hovered, brushing sable hair away from her face, and kissed a fat cheek.

That door was closed too, and now both children were tucked away safely in their beds – their young minds and small hearts protected from anything that would sully them.

Temporarily, at least.

L lingered outside the doorway of the master bedroom – Georgiana's bedroom, really – his hands curled around the frame as he gingerly peeked around the corner and into the bedroom like some kind of coward skulking about with terrible things on his conscience.

Through the years, he'd haunted this very spot more times than he could count – lonely and desolated and so _guilty_ that he'd wanted to throw himself into her and tearfully beg forgiveness from the woman half of him loved. An easy friend. A loving wife. A lover so talented that she could sometimes make him forget the other half of himself – the half that thought of another with fiery hair and chocolate eyes when he stared down at her beneath him.

The letter recalled itself to his mind with that thought, while the thing itself seemed to burn in the pocket of his jeans. He reached behind him to pull it from the fabric and unfold it with unsteady hands. It was dated for almost two weeks ago, but he'd only received it one week ago.

And damn it all, why hadn't he been more careful with the situation? Why had he asked that they be written in English? Why had he thought it charming to see his first name at the top of the first page – a fancily penned _L_ – instead of dangerous? Why had he let himself become delighted at the way it was signed – _In longing to be alone with you – _instead of dismissing it as a liability?

L pulled the papers apart, and turned over the last page in his left hand to actually look at the signature – _Light_ – in bold, sweeping strokes. Why had he let the boy sign his damned name? The rest of it he might have been able to explain away as perhaps belonging to a case he was working on, or something written for a friend; because it was really just erotic daydreaming and thoughts of affection put to paper. But with names?

No . . . that wasn't true. Georgi wasn't stupid, and there were too many references to his physical appearance – _dark, wicked eyes_; _skin as pure as the first snow of winter _ – for it to be considered anything else but what it was, a love letter to a married man from his best friend.

And L couldn't even begin to know what kind of emotion she must have experienced when reading it. Maybe if it had been someone she didn't know . . . another woman, perhaps. But not Yagami Light. Someone she had a great affection for, and whom had a great affection for her. Someone who came to visit her home several times a year. Someone who doted on her children and whom her children loved. Someone she spent time with in her own right, because they were good friends with a lot in common – smart and warm and _so_ beautiful that people often mistakenly assumed that it was she and Light who were husband and wife when they went out together.

It was an ultimate violation of trust. A betrayal so total and thorough that it would saturate and taint every aspect of her life. That she'd even had the clarity of mind to put the letter on his desk where he would undoubtedly see it and know she had found it and read it, L could only wonder at. Just as he wondered at the Acura situation outside.

Had she planned to leave him, or been so confused that she hadn't known what to do with herself? Or had she known that he would pick up on the oddity, and put two and two together, and know that it had been her to read it, and know that she wanted to discuss it?

And Light. Why would she call him, and not her husband? Had she wanted to face L in person, and simply be rid of Light with a phone call? Or was it that she, in a way, could believe that _he_ would do something like this and therefore needed no explanation; but couldn't believe that Yagami Light would be just as despicable?

L looked down at the sheets of paper in his hand again, and found himself amazed that such a simple, harmless little thing could bring the walls tumbling down around him. It was really just paper with words written on it; but with its ability to destroy lives . . . it might as well have been a piece of–

"L . . ."

It wasn't a question. And why would it be? She'd caught him hanging around the doorway late at night more than once, watching and waiting in the darkness for her to awaken and beckon him over the threshold like a child awaiting permission to enter his parent's room.

But she wasn't beckoning to him when he folded the letter and looked up to meet her eyes – she wasn't even looking at him. She pushed the sheets aside and struggled to sit up, her left hand supporting the pronounced swelling of her belly as she flung bare legs over the side of the bed closest to him.

Another son. Probably his last, now.

Hastily, she tugged down the sheer material of her gown that had bunched around her waist, as if it disgusted her to have his nightmarish eyes on her now. Did she think him some kind of sexually deviant fiend now that she knew his secret – an incubus who would force himself upon her? The worst sort of man who would do unspeakable things to her?

As she did so, L caught a brief flash of silver as moonlight reflected off the wedding ring on her left hand. Was it a good sign that she hadn't taken it off? He looked down to his own – a simple band of white gold encircling palely-dressed bone that he often, obsessively twisted around his finger when he worked – and it made him lament years of infidelity in the span of a _second_. Would she scream at him and demand to know why he wore it if it meant nothing to him?

What was he supposed to tell her? That he just hadn't been able to give the boy up? That _no_, he didn't think about it when he was sitting in his seat on his flight, or when he was driving home or to some random destination, or when he sat at her dinner table, or when he made love to her, or when he found himself in-between Light's pale thighs, or when he spent time with the children, or when he worked, or whatever else he did that gave him time to think about things he _should_ have been thinking about instead of just tasting the moment and leaving it at that because it was convenient and because he _just_ couldn't have one or the other, he had to have them both?

L would only understand much later why she'd never asked any of those things.

Staring down at his feet, L observed himself step over the threshold and then turn in place to close the door softly behind him. And it wasn't until the door was almost shut that L raised his head – wide eyes watching as his last chance for escape disappeared with the space between door and frame.

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**Hephaestion** (_He-fy-shton_) - Longtime friend and lover of King Alexander the Great. One of the rare cases of true love between _erastes _and _eromenos_, even given Alexander's kingship. He bestowed an _insane_ amount of favor on Hephaestion – making him a part of the royal family by marriage to his wife's sister, keeping him always as his second-in-command, referring to him as himself or an alter ego of himself, giving him one of the most extravagant and expensive funerals in history, and even attempting to deify him post-mortem. Known eternally as _Divine Hero_.

**Xander **(_Zan-der_)- short for Alexander.

**When lovebirds are ready to mate, they will often shred paper and prepare a nest (usually in a box or secluded area). Even if there is no mate available, males will sometimes still perform the nesting behaviour. Are known to mate with either sex, and sometimes inanimate objects.

**Kindle** - a handheld device for electronic books.


	2. Proof of Life

**Tunes in Profile:**

_Heavy Price Paid_

_Snow Falling on Cedars_

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**Proof of Life**

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_"I did it. I shot her."_

_An extended silence followed the admission, followed by Watari's crackly voice. "Shot whom?"_

_A shaky exhalation of breath was his initial response, and then the sound of something clicking in the background. ". . . Georgi."_

_"Is she breathing?" Watari asked, his tone remarkably level and conversational._

_L's was not when he replied, his voice coming out in horrid noises that sounded a lot like choking. "Not anymore." More silence on Watari's end, filled suddenly by excited chirping and a heavy thud. "She's . . . " L cut himself off in an audible swallow before low-pitched words spilled out in a forced moan. ". . . she's . . . bleeding, Watari? It's all over." _

_"Where are the children, L?"_

_"Gone." He responded immediately, in an almost serene tone._

_"Gone where?" Watari pressed gently._

_There was the sound of gasping – harsh intakes of breath each shorter than the last before they stopped altogether. Paper crinkled, Hephaestion's singing ceased, and then one long explosion of too-long held breath followed._

_"L?" Still no response. "L? Answer me."

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_

Watari tapped a button on his screen with his stylus, and the recording stopped. "The rest is inaudible until paramedics arrived some minutes later."

Coffee colored eyes watched as the old man beside him retired the slim PDA to his breast pocket, and Yagami Light wondered silently at how he'd managed to remain so calm during the entire thing when the current state of affairs called for anything but.

He certainly hadn't been this calm when Watari had called him less than twenty-four hours ago with the words _There's been an accident_, _Yagami-kun_ and he'd thought for sure he'd been about to regurgitate his own living heart. He hadn't been so calm on his trip here, since Watari hadn't said anything else except that he'd rescheduled him for the first flight out of Japan rather than the flight he was supposed to have taken a week later, and the lack of information had sent Light's imagination to the darkest places possible.

And he _sure_ as hell hadn't been so calm when he'd walked through that arrival gate and seen Watari's face, and almost high-tailed it back to his plane so he could spare himself whatever was about to come.

Light turned to watch as English countryside zipped passed his backseat window, pushing russet fringe from his forehead with a finger. "What did they find?" He asked softly to the glass, as if _he_ would shatter into pieces if he spoke too loudly.

Black leather squeaked as the other backseat passenger shifted his weight. "Georgiana was found on the floor in his office, beside his desk. She'd succumbed already to a gunshot wound to her right temple . . ."

Light waited patiently, his eyes fixed on rapidly moving scenery he didn't really see as the old man struggled to find his words. He knew exactly what he was waiting for, and he also knew that if those words had to come out of his own mouth, he'd lose this calm of his right then and there.

And Watari, he realized when he felt the touch of thick paper against his arm and turned to find a red folder being shoved at him, wasn't much better off. "Page six, if you please."

Light hesitated, darkening amber colliding with liquid steel, before seizing the thing and bending open the cover in his lap. The pages were loose and one sided, so he had to turn five of them over onto the other cover of the folder before searching and coming upon what Watari wanted him to read for himself.

**_Miscellaneous_**

_Victim's term approximated at third trimester – 29__th__ week.  
__Trauma-induced premature labor. Postmortem.  
Due to prolonged circumstances without emergency medical care – non-viable._

Non-viable. Just another, colder way of saying L's son had died. Light read it again, trying to determine exactly when and where death had occurred – if it had happened somewhere other than the home.

_. . . she's bleeding, Watari? It's all over. _

L's voice replayed itself in his mind, dark and disturbed, and Light suddenly had his answer.

"And L?" he barely managed to whisper, almost afraid of the answer. The last time he'd spoken to the detective had been _that_ night, when he'd signed off abruptly and Light hadn't been able to get back in touch with him. The next day, he'd called L's phone and had received no answer. Then he'd called Georgi's phone, and still received no answer. Calling the house hadn't produced any results, either; so he'd figured it best to leave things alone, given the conversation he'd had with L last they spoke, and wait for him to return his calls.

Unfortunately, his call-back had come a few days later, and not from L.

Watari shook his head beside him. "They reported seeing no one else in the home; but he's there and most likely hasn't left. According to my logs, the home's security system was re-enabled shortly after the paramedics left, and then disabled only briefly the following day."

"When he put the children outside." Light finished to himself. That had been days ago, and he couldn't even imagine what kind of condition L was in _now _if he'd been bad enough to put his own children on the street, _then_.

Watari nodded, and then both men fell quiet for several minutes; leaving only the dampened hum of the Mercedes' engine.

Light took the opportunity to thumb through the rest of the medical report in front of him. Time of death had put been at almost an _hour_ before the paramedics Watari had notified arrived, and Light wondered at the circumstances surrounding that detail. Why would L wait so long? Most people waited to report a death because they either needed time to alter the crime scene in their favor, or they were too distraught to do so immediately. If he'd really shot her . . .

"No." Light berated himself out loud for even _thinking_ that L was guilty. "He didn't do this. L did _not_ murder his own wife."

"He says differently, Yagami-kun."

Light didn't look up from the report, his eyes scanning over text as he thought of the conversation Watari had recorded. "I heard what was said. But, I don't think he means it literally. You reported it as a suicide," Light turned over several pages until he came to the last. "And the medical examiner agrees with you. The angle of the entry wound and the bullet's trajectory indicates self-infliction."

"And you know as well as I do that if anyone is capable of turning a homicide into a suicide, it's L. Regardless of his mental state, he will always act on his sense of self-preservation."

Light had no idea why, but he bristled at the handler's presentation of contrary theories. He did _not_ want to sit here and run a fucking differential on **L **like he was some kind of two-bit suspect whose motives could be explained away in the backseat of a car.

"I know _that._ I'm not an imbecile!"

Light regretted the outburst as soon as it left his lips, and he closed his eyes in an effort to control himself. "I . . . I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

And Watari looked not at all put-out when Light reopened his eyes to regard the man in apology. "It's alright. I want as much as you do to believe that L is innocent. That this isn't in his heart. But the fact remains, Yagami-kun, that L is not . . ." He stumbled, his face appearing to age almost ten years instantaneously before he turned it away and exhaled audibly through his nose. " . . . he's capable of this."

"Of murder? Watari?" Light asked, the disbelief in his voice he couldn't hide.

"Under certain circumstances . . . absolutely."

"That doesn't mean he's guilty. It just means the possibility exists." Light said more to himself as he returned his attention to the packet of papers in his lap. He'd caught a glimpse of a toxicology report earlier, and decided to have a closer look. He didn't really expect to find anything, having never known Georgi to partake in such things. She'd always been one of those chirpy people – naturally happy and high on life. So when he came across the amount of Benzodiazepine found in her blood, he was genuinely surprised.

"What the hell kind of practitioner prescribes _Temazepam_ to a pregnant woman!?"

"It was L's prescription," Watari explained, turning from the window. "His sleeping habits were worsening. He didn't tell you?"

"Not that he was taking any medication for it, no." Light all but gaped at the old man, as if to ask _what else is there that I don't know about?_ And Watari responded with his own look that said Light knew better than he did.

Yes, Light did know better, and he wanted to say so, too. He wanted to say that _this_ is what happens when someone like L is left to his own devices – unsupervised and allowed to go about doing whatever he damn well pleased. But Light kept his mouth shut, completely unwilling to disgrace himself with such disrespect to an elder and especially when he could be _just_ as responsible as anyone else, if not more so.

He turned to stare out of the car window again with a heavy sigh, and wondered if Watari knew. He knew everything, didn't he? And if he did, wouldn't he have warned L and coaxed that fool detective into doing the right thing? Into at least attempting to handle the situation with a little tact, and not coming off as a total prick only out for himself?

"Georgi called me that day." Light just blurted it out, before he had a chance to convince himself otherwise.

"I know," was Watari's gentle reply not a moment later. "I was wondering if and when you would tell me. I assume it wasn't just a call for pleasantries, then?"

He watched rolling hills and open grassland turn into more heavily populated forest. "I think she knew." He answered quietly, and waited. When no response came, Light gingerly looked back to gauge the old man's non-verbal reaction and found him staring back with an odd angle of his head. Apparently, he didn't know either.

"About you and L?"

Light nodded once, solemnly. "Maybe."

Disapproval twisted the soft wrinkles of his face, but he said nothing; and Light had to look away in shame to instead concentrate on the tinted glass that separated them from the driver. Watari had _always_ disapproved of the relationship he and L carried on behind Georgi's back . . . in her home . . . in her _bed_, sometimes. But just as they had, he'd assumed that two bright boys like themselves would have had no trouble keeping such a wicked liaison buried and hidden, and had left them to it.

More fool him, Light thought. More fool them _all_.

"That only complicates things further, Yagami-kun."

"Yes it does. Those Temazepam pills she was taking can cause all sorts of side-effects, Watari. _Including_ psychotic breaks. If she . . . " he trailed off, frustrated at himself and everything else. "If L confessed to her, they may have twisted or disturbed her reaction."

"Or L's own actions." L's retired assistant completed his side of the differential admirably.

And Light had no choice but to let it end there, because the car had turned into the gravel driveway of their destination – one of Quillsh Wammy's many properties and one not far from L's own home.

Yagami Light's brain switched gears immediately, putting everything else on temporary hold as he watched the Victorian style house grow in size as they closed in. Elaborate gardens on either side of the driveway rose up around them – complete with stone fountains and decorative statues. A small version of a Polo field stretched out to his right, with accommodating stables looming up behind it. There was even a single tennis court, on his left.

Light stared straight ahead, his eyes keen and fixed – ignoring all of it. Under any other circumstances, he would have paid gracious attention to the property and been sure to compliment its owner. But not today. Not when he could see, standing right outside the front door of the two-story home with some lady he didn't know or want there, exactly what he'd come here for.

L's suddenly, very much alone children.

* * *

. . .


	3. The Light Spirit Appears

_Before anyone reads this, I think I'd better explain the scene with the lovebird before I get some **angry **PMs (Nothing new there, but this isn't a valid reason).  
_

_Lovebirds are very 'loving' animals. That's just their nature, hence the name __**love**bird. And if a bird bonds closely with their owner, it's very common for them to try and 'give some love'. Usually on an owner's hand or some such easily accessible object, and most owners will allow this for the mental health of their bird. Nothing wrong with it . . . just a little play._

_ . . .

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_

**Tunes in Profile:**_  
_

_Kakariko_

_She Talks To Angels - **Generally not a fan of this genre, but this song gets to me.**  


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**October 5th, 2012**

**Yorkshire, Northern England**

Golden yellows and hints of orange topped the tallest of trees in an explosion of changing autumn color. Overhead, the dark grey of swiftly moving rain clouds threatened to burst any second with seasonal downpour. Distant thunder emphasized such danger, giving all mortals their last warning before the storm was upon them.

Daphne took two footsteps backward to the safety of the overhang, pulling two dark-haired munchkins with her, and watched the silver sedan's gravel-crunching approach. The car slid to a stop several feet away from them, its tires creating puffs of rock dust that were quickly swept away by the strengthening winds.

A friend of the family, she'd been told, who'd just arrived all the way from Japan to see the children. Daphne looked down to the children on either side of her. To her right was the boy, stone-faced and still. His shirt, that she'd told him to tuck in, hung down beyond his waist, and so did the long-sleeved brown over-shirt that covered it. With his wild hair, strange eyes, and rolled-up denim jeans, he looked a lot like what she remembered seeing of his father. On her other side, was the quietly sullen little girl. Her hair, that same inky color, was much longer than her brother's and _curly_. It had taken Daphne just as long to brush the stuff as it had to get the girl into the pale-blue dress she wore.

And their shoes . . . she didn't even want to recall the fight it had been to get either child into them. The boy . . . he hadn't been that bad, taking the sneakers and putting them on himself. It had been the girl who'd pitched a _fit_ – shrieking at her at the top of her lungs and kicking the shoes off every time she turned her back. Daphne had been ready to pop the little vixen; but thought better of it given their circumstances.

Poor little things, to lose their sweet mother so early in life and then find themselves cast out by their father.

She crossed herself.

Bad business, that. Tragic, really, to go so young. The girl had only been around her age – twenty-five. And to take not only her own life but that of her unborn son, and leave two small children behind with an apparently troubled father? It was the worst. Evil spirits at work, her grandmother would say; but Daphne wasn't sure if she was willing to go _that_ far when things like this happened. Only that God worked in mysterious ways that people sometimes didn't understand, so there must be _some_ reason why she'd condemned herself to everlasting punishment.

The sound of a car door being pushed shut caught her attention, and Daphne looked back to see her employer's tall form walking around the trunk of the vehicle. An older gentleman, he was; but one could never tell how old just by looking at him. She'd never seen him stoop like many of the elderly members of her family did, and he was always quick on his feet. Surprising, for a seventy-something year old man.

The other door closest to her opened, and the newcomer stepped out.

He was . . .

. . . the most stunning creature she'd ever laid eyes on.

And so colorful! Not at all the generically colored Asian man she'd expected. Instead of black, his hair was a soft auburn color – like roasted chestnuts – that fell about his eyes in the front and passed his ears on the sides. His complexion looked fair – not ghastly pale, but not quite olive, either – but Daphne couldn't really tell one way or the other. Maybe it was the overcast lighting that made it hard to tell. Or perhaps the shading of the clothing that, she thought, fit his lean form just perfectly. Pressed khaki slacks, which hugged the cutest ass she'd ever seen when he turned around; a button down long-sleeved shirt, black and also pressed; and an apple-red sport coat.

It was the coat, she suspected, that threw his color off.

He turned toward her, his attention zeroing in on her location, and Daphne felt her pulse stumble, then quicken. Damn the coat. He could have worn a garbage bag, and he still would have looked as dignified as Caesar himself. It defied belief, that such grace and beauty could manifest itself in _one_ single person. She watched him as he walked toward her . . . stalked toward her, really. A symphony of highly controlled movements – each calculated and in perfect harmony with the whole, right down to the almost undetectable sway of faintly flared hips.

A picture of calm and collected . . . the quiet before the storm. Like a fierce cheetah, its eyes on the prize, that she expected to break into a run toward her any minute.

But it wasn't this paragon of magnificence that rushed across the driveway; it was the children. She'd been so intent on the visitor that both children had decided to take the opportunity to break from her lax hold on them and tear across the gravel toward their savior.

"_Malakai!"_ She called to the boy, because his sister Octavia would usually take her cues from him. But neither child paid her a bit of attention, so Daphne left off, defeated.

Kai reached him first, pausing only to prime himself for the leap that propelled him into the man's arms. Tavia, though, didn't fare as well. At five, she wasn't as prepared for the speed her little legs could give her as her brother, who was two years older than her. A third of the way, she missed a step and collapsed on her hands and knees to the ground, hard. And the visitor didn't wait for her. By the time she'd looked around and managed to pick herself up, he'd already converged on her and bent to scoop her up.

With both children latched on to him as if he were a raft they'd discovered at sea, he turned from her and headed back toward the vehicle. And Daphne thought that perhaps he was simply here to take them and be on his way until he saw him speak to Kai, and then set the boy back down on the ground. He pointed gracefully – toward the passenger seat of the vehicle – and Kai hurried to retrieve whatever it was that was in there.

A bird cage. And Daphne could just make out lavender feathers and a black crown as Kai carefully pulled the cage from the seat and carried it toward its owner.

Curious, that.

"Daphne." Quillsh addressed her, and now they were all approaching – the girl on the newcomer's hip and Kai with that bird. "This is Light. Yagami."

_Light_. Yes, that fit. So much so, it was almost ironic. "Pleased to meet you." She gave a simple smile, and nod of her head. Now that he was this close, she could get a good look at his eyes. And what eyes they were . . . not black; but a warm chocolate color with a hint of cherry – like strawberry-mocha supernovas. They matched perfectly with his skin-tone, which she could now see was a silky cream; and his facial structure, prominent features that weren't too sharp.

Clearly, one of the _wife's_ friends. A fact only reinforced in her mind by his see-through eyes and easy disposition – kind, well-mannered . . . very charming. Not at all like that _other_ one. The husband. The second she'd met _him_, she'd known right away that there had been something very much wrong with him.

Not that he hadn't been pleasant enough. His _pleases_ and _thank-yous_ had been in order, and he'd even stepped outside on the veranda with her one evening to watch the rain while she smoked – asking her questions like _how was school going_ and _what was she studying_ and then giving her cigarette a queer look when she'd said Oncology.

But he'd had a changeable look about him – as if he wasn't really there, and his face just went through the motions for the sake of civility. Like one of those people that smiled at a gracious comment, or laughed at one of your jokes; and then as soon as they turned around it fell away as if it had never been there at all. And those eyes of his. Hellish pools of absolutely nothing that gave her the heebie-jeebies every time they'd look her way. Malakai had them, too; but they didn't seem quite as frightening on the son as they had on his father.

No – he and Light were as different as night and day, and Daphne just couldn't see someone like this visitor having _anything_ in common with the widower. But Georgi, on the other hand – those two would have been easy friends, no doubt.

Or, maybe it was more than that. Daphne wouldn't be at all surprised if this man had been the wife's lover, so alike in good looks and nature were they. That would explain his adoration for these children that had no real apparent reason behind it otherwise.

"The pleasure is mine, Daphne." She started a little at his return of her greeting, and hoped she hadn't been staring. Goodness, even his voice screamed perfection and his English on the mark.

With a parting smile, he moved passed her up the stairs and into the house, Kai right behind him. It was only Quillsh who paused beside her as he turned to signal that the driver take care of the luggage.

"I think that'll be all for today, Daphne. You may leave if you like." He told her in that soft, gentle voice of his.

Daphne really would have liked to have stayed. Out of curiosity, more than anything. About this Light Yagami person, and why he was here. Not to mention . . . she'd seen no ring on his finger, and it wouldn't have hurt to see about _those_ kinds of things. She was young . . . pretty enough . . . and no man to speak of.

But she could take a hint. She'd definitely gotten the impression from Quillsh that he would much prefer that she leave them be – family matters and all. And Daphne had no problem with that. She'd just arrive a little earlier for work tomorrow, and hopefully catch the newcomer before he left for the dead woman's house.

She nodded, and stepped down from the veranda, fumbling in her coat pocket for the electronic key to her car. And just as she made it across the driveway, in the opposite direction of where Light had arrived, and to her vehicle – the heavens above her opened up and let loose.

* * *

Dinner proved to be uneventful. Kai and Tavia ate quietly, which almost _never_ happened in Light's presence, while Light and Watari spoke of adult things that had absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand. And while useless words poured from Light's mouth, thoughts of L ravaged his mind.

**L**

A hard lump of black stone twisted in his chest when Light tried to imagine what kind of raw emotion and unrest there must be within him that could push the detective so far.

To think that L might very well be drowning in a sea dark and murky – its waters unfamiliar and mercilessly chaotic . . . it made him lightheaded.

L was strong. He'd _always_ possessed a great mental strength that Light both admired and sometimes abhorred. But, that was only because of his ability to prepare himself for the worst. This time, he'd had no time to brace himself against whatever happened, and Light suspected it was the real, _human_ emotional pain that had blindsided him.

And when L was snuck up on like that, out of the blue and ill-prepared – he freaked. It was just, Light had learned the hard way, something that happened beyond his control. If there was no previous reference on how to react to a certain stimuli, he'd have no choice but to make one up. And for a person of extremes, whose natural response is to push either one way or the other until he's satisfied, making up responses to new circumstances was a dangerous thing. And because of his socialization, or lack of it – L made up responses on the fly for a lot of shit that normal human beings were _slowly_ adapted to.

Whether that was grief or guilt or regret in this case, Light didn't know for certain. Maybe it was none of those, but something only L would struggle with. Some crazy, off-the-wall perspective because his emotional responses were so skewed; and try as he might to shed it like some kind of reptilian skin, L was and would always _be_ human at his core.

Maybe that's what scared Light the most. L hated things he couldn't control, and that included his own humanity. So maybe it wasn't an emotionally ravaged L he'd come upon; but an emotionally _deceased_ L. One who had pushed himself so far to the other side of the spectrum – so far away from the side that had injured him – that he'd be so much more apathetic and cold and dead than he'd ever been in the past.

Exactly in the same way that a child would react if their hand was burned. Their response wasn't to just pull back a little, slowly. It was to jerk back as far as possible, instantaneously. And whatever caused the injury would be forever etched in the mind as something to stay the hell away from and avoid at all costs. And what then? If L had been unpredictable before, what on earth would he be now without at least some kind of emotional response influencing his actions?

Light stabbed a piece of cinnamon-drenched apple with his fork, next to the rosemary chicken he hadn't yet touched.

Perhaps he was overreacting. L was not some helpless victim who fell to pieces as soon as things went wrong. He'd be upset, no doubt – at himself or her or whatever else had triggered these circumstances – and he'd go into _don't give a fuck_ mode for a little while; but then he'd snap out of it and revert back to the same old rock-solid **L** that no one knew and loved. Wouldn't he?

And Georgi–

" . . . Light?"

Light blinked, his fork going still. Everyone was staring at him, expectantly; and he hadn't the faintest idea why. He looked to Kai, who had moved to stand beside his chair, and the dark red raspberries clustered in the boy's outstretched palm. He wanted to give them to Xander, who currently awaited his own dinner in the living area.

Light wasn't hungry anyway, and pushed all that he hadn't finished away to stand from the table. "I think he'll like those. You feed him, okay?"

Kai nodded and closed his fist, careful not to squish the juice that Xander liked from the berries, and followed Light out of the dining room.

* * *

It wasn't until the children were put to bed upstairs and the bird fed did the men move to the first floor library, where they were able to discuss plans.

"Something to drink, Yagami-kun?" Watari asked in Light's native language as he poured himself a glass of port in one corner of the room.

"No, thank you." Light replied politely as he moved to seat himself on a sofa in-between a large wooden bookshelf and an antique desk. In front of him sat a coffee table, and on top of it waited Watari's laptop. "You mentioned satellite imagery? I'd like to have a look, if you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all." Watari noted the hint of impatience in the boy's voice as he joined him on the couch and struck a key on the computer's thin keyboard. After taking a sip of his after-dinner wine, he entered his login information.

"Have you tried getting inside the house yet?" Light asked as they waited for the program to establish a connection.

"The next morning, as soon as I arrived here. By then, the system was already in lock-down status and all override codes changed. All attempts at contact have been ignored, and that includes my own. I thought he'd at least send instructions with the children . . . but according to both he just put them outside the exterior wall with not a word." The old man took another sip from his glass, and cast a quick glance towards Light. "And I see that look, Yagami-kun; but it was the right decision. He knew they'd end up here eventually, and it was for their own well-being."

Light pressed his lips together, preparing to tell the old man he was full of it, when the screen before them flash _connected_ and an overhead image of L's estate popped up. Most of it was trees, that looked like bushes, with their tops gilded by the sun. What wasn't clustered with forestry were the areas immediately surrounding the dark-roofed structure located in the upper west corner of the property. Below, Light could see the white of the road that lead from the house to the southern entrance, where the perimeter wall transversed it.

That wall was going to cause him problems, Light already knew. When the thing had been designed and constructed, all trees within fifteen feet of it had been cut down on both sides; so it wasn't as if he'd be able to climb a tree and hop right over to it.

"There haven't been any other new developments I should know about, like guard-dogs, have there?" Light asked as he stared at the screen and determined there would be nowhere for him to run should there be. He could outrun dogs, no problem. But not forever.

"No, no dogs. Only the cameras – along the perimeter and the driveway."

Light shrugged. He didn't care about cameras – L already knew he was coming. He _had_ to know that Light was coming for him. Didn't he? After all they'd been through together? After all the lies and the betrayals and their struggles to overcome such drama in an effort to achieve some form of peace, was Light just expected to read the writing on the wall, cut his losses and move on to safer prospects?

_Never_.

L was it for him. There was no one else like him – there would never _be_ anyone else like him – and Light wouldn't give him up for anything. Not his career. Not his family. Not his freedom. Not even his pride. Because without L, what good was any of that? It was _because_ of the detective that he still possessed those things in the first place, so even if he wasn't hopelessly afflicted with this bizarre obsession for the man, he'd still stand by L no matter _what _the lunatic did. There was absolutely nothing in this life that could keep him away.

Just death.

And if Death should be so cruel as to deprive one of them of the other, Light hoped with all his soul that it was _he_ who went first, to spare himself the mortal agony he knew would come as sure as it had for _Achilles _when he'd lost his _Patroclus_. Death, whether it was his own or that of loved-ones, Light could handle well enough. But the death of L . . . _his _L? _That_ was on a completely different level for him, and just thinking about it scared the reason right out of his mind.

"Where is he?"

Watari pressed a combination of keys, zooming in on the home and changing the image to real-time thermal video. The house suddenly looked like someone had dumped neon blue paint all over it, signifying a lack of radiation sources such as heat or lights. It wasn't until he zoomed in further did some green and a little yellow become apparent.

And then a small, stationary blotch of orange and bright red. _L._

A mixture of emotion assaulted him all at once, making it difficult to concentrate momentarily. It made him crazy that L was _right_ there – not an hour away – and he was _here_ sitting on this stupid couch instead of leaving this instant to get over there.

Light leaned in closer, as if he could put himself through the screen by doing so.

Watari cleared his throat beside him. "The first day, he couldn't sit still. He went through a sort of . . . agitated pattern of movement throughout the entire house, except for the study. But for the past three days, he's remained largely as you see him now."

"The bedroom?"

"That, or one of the guestrooms below it." The old man offered before finishing off the last few swallows left in his glass.

"But not the basement?" Light caught the absence of that area of the house that was also located below the bedroom just as the guestroom was.

"Ah, no . . . that's where he put the children. According to Kai, who described being awakened by 'a loud pop', L pulled both of them out of bed and rushed them downstairs and left them there until the next day."

Light tried to see in his head how that must have looked, skinny L dragging two scared children down stairs in the middle of the night. "So they didn't see . . . ?"

He shook his head. "No. They just know that their mother is . . . deceased. Details will have to come later, when we have them and when it's decided what to tell them."

The _truth_ Light wanted to shout instinctively, even though he knew that there could be long-lasting consequences for that depending on what the truth was. If his suspicions proved to be accurate, both children might end up hating them both. Light for his part in it, and L for betraying their mother and driving her to . . . shoot herself?

The more he thought about that theory, the less sense it made. An accident would be more plausible, because Georgi just hadn't struck him as the sort to go that far. The woman he'd known would have shot both L and himself before resorting to taking her own life, and that was only under the most extreme of circumstances. Not that it wasn't a sight to see when she went on the warpath – the girl could get downright scary if crossed – but there wasn't . . . or there _hadn't_ been a violent bone in her body.

She'd get angry, sure, and flare up like one of those Siamese fighting fish when shown a mirror – all hotly colored and wild. But, that was all. As soon as her reflection vanished, she'd quiet down and laugh it off. And he'd seen it happen, too . . .

It hadn't been uncommon for L to request that he accompany her to some such social gathering she'd wanted to attend, and Light had always been willing to go in his place. Not only because it was the courteous thing to do and he knew L would only embarrass her; but because Georgi had been a riot to be around. One of the few . . . possibly the only woman he could stand to be around without fighting down urges to shove something in her mouth. And he'd seen, during one of those events, just what happened when L's wife was provoked and it hadn't been pretty.

A smile almost broke out on his face as Light remembered the incident.

One of the other women (vultures) present had given her a hard time – over what, Light couldn't recall at the moment. Whatever it was, it had obviously bothered her; but not so badly that she hadn't been able to let it go for the sake of appearances. It wasn't until later in the evening that things had gotten nasty, and Georgi ended up reaming that old bitch a new one.

Light had just stood there and watched, like everyone else, and then followed behind her as she stomped all the way to the car. And by the time they'd been ready to leave, she'd been fine. As cool as a fan, she'd looked over at him and asked if she should go back and apologize, which Light had responded with _hell no, she deserved it_.

No, Georgi wasn't a violent person. If anything, she was a very_ remorseful _person. She didn't handle guilt well – couldn't stand to let it eat away at her. She'd confess at the drop of a pin if there was something to own up to, and accept retribution fearlessly. And Light knew about _that _from personal experience, too.

He stared at the unmoving form curled up in neon color on the screen.

Would she have . . . _confessed_ to L if presented with his infidelity? Like some kind of twisted heart-to heart, would they have shared their transgressions against one another in moment of weakness? When he'd sent that audio clip to L, he'd been just about to tell him _not_ to get caught up and go admit to anything right off the bat when the detective had signed off suddenly.

Maybe it hadn't been L who'd pled guilty that night. Maybe, it wasn't that Georgi knew about L and himself . . . but L who'd heard something he hadn't wanted to hear.

And Watari was right. L _was_ capable of violence when pushed hard enough. There were some things that he just did _not_ tolerate – not from Light, which was another story for another day, and most certainly not from his own wife who should be "above suspicion". But whether he'd go so far as to murder her for something he himself engaged would remain indeterminable until he could get into the house and see the man.

He stood up suddenly, brushing strands of hair from his eyes as he cast one last glance at the screen. "I think I'll turn in. The sooner I get to sleep, the sooner I can leave in the morning. Unless there's anything that can't wait until tomorrow?"

Watari looked a little surprised, but he only shook his head. "No, we can speak in the morning if you like."

Light nodded stiffly, not angry but just eager to be on his own. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight Yagami-kun."

* * *

He hurried his way from the library as fast as he could without it appearing obvious, and went to retrieve Alexander from the living area. The bird had been quiet for most of the evening; but now he was chirpy as Light carried his cage up the stairs toward the guestroom given him. He wanted out of his cage – a little freedom before bedtime.

And Light was happy to oblige, closing the bedroom door and letting the lovebird have run of the room as he undressed to his boxer shorts and folded the clothes into a neat little pile on the dresser.

Xander headed for them the minute Light disappeared into the bathroom, inspecting and jumping all over them. If he was left there long enough, he'd manage to dig his way through the material and find buttons to chew. But his owner, now wise to his antics after having come across _several_ shirts with mysteriously missing buttons, reappeared moments later to fish the little snoop out of his clothing and carry him to the bed.

"Your eyes would make perfect buttons." Light warned with affection as he turned the covers down and crawled under them. He twisted around, pushing on the pillow behind him and then using a fist to make a hollow in the down before placing the bird inside it. It was a strange pillow, so it took Xander a bit longer than usual to hop and peck at the makeshift hidey hole before settling down in a ball of feathers.

Light followed, laying his head on the other end of the pillow to stare at the creature. Sometimes, when Xander got sleepy, he would do the cutest thing with his eyes and then kind of pitch forward – like he was just too tired to perch himself up anymore. Others, he'd stay wide awake until Light cupped a hand over him and stroked his head.

Now, Light could see, was a cuddle night. So he turned on his back, pushed the covers down to his waist, and gathered the bird to deposit him inside the depression of his chest over his diaphragm. He felt cold feet lightly pinch him as he shifted from one foot to the other in an effort to get comfortable, and watched as the heat from his skin calmed the bird into a fluffy bundle of purple and black.

Light gently covered him with his hand, wrapping slender fingers around Xander in a mock love tent, and waited for his tiny head to pop out of the hole between thumb and forefinger. But he was having none of that sleep stuff just yet, and hopped forward. Light let him go, hovering his hand over the slight form, and watched as Xander turned around in an attempt to grab hold of it.

He was frisky tonight. And though Light usually let him have a go at it, he moved the object of the bird's affection out of reach. He gave a sweet sing-song sound in response, turning his head to regard Light almost as if in question.

"No." He said it gently, but with a firm tone.

Xander knew the word – he was a smart bird – and sort of drooped at hearing it in his owner's voice. Light cupped a hand over him again, and this time the animal _did_ settle and poke his head out for stroking.

Light complied, lightly caressing the black fuzz of Xander's crown with his thumb until his small head fell forward, and black pearls slowly drifted shut.

* * *

**Malakai **- _Mal-a-ky_

**Octavia** - _Oc-tave-ee-a_

**Achilles **- The most beautiful of Greek heroes. Said to have been invulnerable except for a weak spot in his heel. Refused to fight in the Trojan War until his beloved Patroclus was killed. Sought revenge for Patroclus, even though the Gods warned it would kill him. His remains were buried with those of Patroclus.

**Patroclus **– Achilles' beloved. Wore Achilles' armor into battle, and was ultimately killed. Avenged by Achilles, and greatly honored by him in death. Said to have reunited with his comrade in Hades.


	4. Caution: Danger of Landslide Ahead

_Don't own Death Note. May have nudged against my 'T' rating a little . . ._

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**Tunes in Profile:**

_Some Devil_

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**Caution: Danger of Landslide Ahead**

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_"__**For I know of no greater blessing to a young man who is beginning life than a virtuous lover, or to the lover than a beloved youth. For the principle which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly live – that principle, I say, neither kindred, nor honor, nor wealth, nor any other motive is able to implant so well as love. Of what am I speaking**__?"_

_Light balanced himself on one elbow to turn the page, and folded it into place before continuing._

_"__**It was agreed that drinking was not to be**__ . . ." He paused, gilded cinnamon eyes going to page numbers on paper that looked yellow from lamplight. "I think I got turned around."_

_"Left to right, Light-kun." L reminded him, clearly entertained by the mistake. "You always do that."_

_"I know it." Light turned the book over and lay it face down on the bedspread before flipping himself over onto his back, dropping his head into the pillows behind him dramatically. He drew up his legs, and parted his bare knees to stare at L through the gap. "You're supposed to read tonight anyway, so hurry up over there."_

_L paid Light no attention at all as he reached behind himself to pull white cotton over his head. He took his time in folding the shirt and made a big to-do about placing it on the dresser behind him before moving to the fastening of jeans that hung dangerously low on narrow hips._

_"Where's the belt I gave you?" Light inquired, half seriously._

_"I don't wear belts." The detective replied to his chest as he stared down at the fingers working leisurely at the button of his pants._

_Light raised an eyebrow as he watched L turn the zipper tab down and pull the rise apart. "Or underwear, apparently. When did that start?"_

_"It wasn't on purpose. With you rushing me out the door this morning, they got overlooked." L pushed the jeans halfway down willowy thighs, where they fell the rest of the way on their own to pile around his feet. These too he picked up and folded to lay on top of his shirt._

_"Overlooked . . . ? It's not as if they're a piece of jewelry, or a watch," Light pointed to his watch on the bedside table. "They're underwear. I mean – when did you realize you didn't have them on?"_

_L turned to face him finally, not the least bit ashamed to stand in front of the bed just as nude as Light, and inclined his head a little as he replayed the day's events in his mind. "In the car, just before you said you wanted to get breakfast. I scratched through my pocket."_

_"Scratched through your . . . ?" Light grinned at him suddenly in realization. "So that's what you were doing. I was wondering why you couldn't sit still."_

_"I chafed a little, too. There's a reason they don't make boxer shorts out of denim, I've discovered." L pursed his lips in a sour look as he turned his attention down to inspect himself for any lasting damage with careful fingers._

_Light watched him loll about, unable to help himself from staring at what he liked to think was the result of pencil strokes made by some artist who'd drawn L with great care._

_Carefully filled in circles for large, soulless eyes – the marks under them smears of pencil lead. Bold strokes for rich, dark hair. Delicately drawn lines for his nose and cheek structure. Light dusting for the pinkish color of finely worked lips. Sharply rendered shoulders that sloped into long, reaching arms, and a painstakingly detailed chest that had been worked and reworked until it was not too frail, but just right. All small, hard muscles, with starved hips, strong thighs, and surprisingly graceful legs. Filled out and colored-in nicely – clad in smooth, exquisite ivory paper._

_Timeless boy-like elegance in physical form that did not carry over to his manners, Light was reminded as L, satisfied with his self-examination, scratched loudly at skin lightly covered with curly black fluff below his waistline._

_"That reminds me, as you stand there scratching yourself," Light started in a disapproving tone, crossing one slender leg over the other and tucking his hands behind his head. "We need to have the soap discussion."_

_Dark eyes rolled, along with the attached head. "Not this again . . . " L mumbled darkly._

_"How difficult is it to take five seconds to pick your hair out of the soap?" Light continued as if he hadn't heard snooty remark. "Honestly, if you don't want to have this conversation anymore, then either learn to clean the soap or get rid of the source of the problem."_

_L's eyes came back to pin themselves on the brightly colored young man laying on the bed. "That's not going to happen."_

_"What's the big deal? I'll even do it for you, if you're scared." He flashed L a wicked grin. "I have steady hands."_

_"That's definitely not going to happen."_

_Light pretended at being wounded, honey eyes large and doleful. "You don't trust me, Ryu?"_

_"Don't start." L gave him a stern look. "It would require one-hundred percent of my trust to allow something like that. And since Light-kun has recently reset himself on that scale, he's currently only at sixty percent and therefore nowhere close to being allowed within ten feet of me with a razor."_

_L sighed, as if completely exhausted by his little speech, and slid forward to sink one knee into the end of the mattress, and then the other. He snatched hold of the ankle dangling back and forth in the air in front of him._

_"Recently . . . " Light replied sarcastically, giving a little kick to dislodge L's fingers. "You've gotten _senile _in your old age. But nevermind, it's not worth arguing about. The point is – my house, _my _rules. I clean up after myself at your house, so I expect the same courtesy."_

_"I'll show you old." L told him as he made another grab for both slim ankles this time, deciding it wiser to tug at the leg supporting his other first. Light tugged back, realizing belatedly that the action only made it easier for L to drag him down the mattress on his back. He gave up, unbending his legs and stretching them out toward the kneeling detective. "And you only do so as a courtesy to Georgi, not me."_

_"That's right, I do. Because she'd have the good grace to pick up after herself. And you. But since she's not here, you have to clean up after yourself. _I'm_ not your wife."_

_"Sometimes, I wonder about that . . . given the amount of useless bitching that comes out of your mouth. Georgi doesn't harass me nearly as much as you do, and she has valid grievances." L let go of Light's ankles, and gave him a tap on his thigh to signal that Light rollover onto his stomach._

_He complied, unfolding his arms from behind his head and twisting himself around. "I'm making up for lost time," he tossed over his shoulder dryly, grabbing the pillow in front of him and tucking it under his chest for support. L didn't reply as he crawled up to hover over Light's prone form. "Watch those hip bones of yours, please," Light reminded him as he carefully flattened himself flush against the body beneath him before lowering all his weight down. Light was just wide enough for L to lay on top of him comfortably without toppling over one side or the other._

_Light wriggled his hips under the additional weight, hanging his head over the pillow he hugged under him. "I don't jibe. I don't jibe!" He shouted in English and then fell into a fit of random laughter at himself. L gave him a little pop at the back of his head, and Light laughed harder; but went still._

_"That's the last time I let you pick the safe word if it's going to be abused outside of its intended context."_

_Laughter died down to little snickers as Light retrieved the book from beside them and held it open in front of his face. He propped himself up on his elbows, making enough room for L to thread his arms through Light's and under him to support his own weight._

_"Your hands are cold."_

_"Hmmm?" L hummed in the back of his throat. He turned them palm up and pressed them to Light's chest. "Like that?" he droned in the boy's ear playfully._

_The brunet gave a little hiss and squirmed. "_Ass_."_

_He rested his hands back on the mattress. "How gracious of Light-kun to offer, but I respectfully decline at this time. I want to break your record tonight."_

_Light snorted. "You've been trying to break that thing for a while now. I think you're stuck at, what is it? Two hours?"_

_"Two hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds; compared to your three hours, two minutes, and . . . twenty-two seconds."_

_"And with penetration?"_

_"Four minutes and six seconds. Which beats your one minute, fifty-six seconds. Ready?"_

_L didn't wait for a reply as he reached over to pick up Light's silver watch from the bedside table and note the time. Placing it back on the table, he shifted his gaze over Light's right shoulder and to the book being held up for him. He settled his weight so as not to overwhelm his human body cushion, drooped his head a little and cleared his throat before beginning in a remarkably smooth, conversational tone._

_"__**Of the sense of honor and dishonor, without which neither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work. And I say that a lover who is detected in doing any dishonorable act, or submitting through cowardice when any dishonor is done to him by another, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than at being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by anyone else**__."_

_"L . . . " Light murmured._

_"Ignore it." L replied without missing a beat._

_**"The beloved, too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation, has the same feeling about his lover. And if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their loves, they would be the very best governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonor, and emulating one another in honor; and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world."**_

_Light lowered the book suddenly before he could continue, and twisted his head around a little. "Wait a minute, L. What are you qualifying as 'reading', exactly? Random words don't count. We said complete sentences from the text only, and if I remember correctly, the last part of that four minutes of yours was gibberish."_

_"I don't believe Light-kun," he said. "It made sense in my head, therefore – it counts. Now stop interrupting me, please."_

_"Oh, get off it. You weren't even looking at the book! It does not count, and stop trying to cheat." Light kept the pages of the book face down, and reared his head back to give the detective a _you better fess up_ glare from the corners of his eyes._

_L returned his own sidelong stare through black fringe before chuckling softly. "So you did notice."_

_"Damn straight I did. So two-minute penalty for attempt at deception, which gives you _two _minutes and _six _seconds with penetration. That puts you only ten seconds ahead of me, just so we're clear on the matter." Having said what he needed to say, Light turned the book to stand it upright so L could continue reading._

_But he ignored the book and gave his head a sort of quick shake as if to clear cobwebs. "Just for my own curiosity, would you mind telling me where you've gotten these newfound stones of yours?"_

_"Stones?" Light asked, taking a moment to grasp L's meaning. "Ah. I've always had them," he gave his hips a little shake to emphasize his words. "As well you know. It's just that I've gotten wiser to your mischief as I've gotten older, and I've learned _not _to argue unless it's important."_

_"Is that right?" L asked, amused. "And gauging our ability to restrain ourselves and read competently during sex is important?"_

_"Isn't it? What better way to test one's self-control and cognitive ability under mental strain? Don't you agree?" he returned._

_L thought on that for a second, rolling his head to the left to collide with Light's. "I suppose I do. It's _Guinness World Record_ material, at least."_

_"So is the temperature of your extremities." Light widened his legs a little so L's frigid feet lay between them instead of on them. "I've come to the conclusion that you're really just some kind of unknown parasite, using me for my body heat."_

_" . . . I'll be sure to note that in my diary along with all the other nice things you've said to me." L said in a completely humorless tone. "So are you going to settle down and let me read, or whine about every little thing for the rest of the evening?"_

_Light only grunted and lay his head down obediently, so L continued where he left off once more._

_"__**For what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? The veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such a time; Love would inspire him**__."_

_"Veriest?" Light asked quietly, unfamiliar with the English word._

_"It's archaic. It means very, in this instance."_

_**"That courage which, as Homer says, the god breathes into the souls of some heroes, Love of his own nature infuses into the lover. Love will make men dare to die for their beloved – love alone**__. __**And women as well as men. Of this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is a monument to all Hellas; for she was willing to lay down her life on behalf of her husband, when no one else would, although he had a father and mother; but the tenderness of her love so far exceeded theirs, that she made them seem like strangers in blood to their own son, and in name only related to him." **_

_"Strangers in blood . . . I like that."_

_"Mmmhmmm" L agreed, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss to Light's right cheek as he waited for him to turn the page._

_**"And was the reward of the true love of Achilles towards his lover Patroclus – his lover and not his love (the notion that Patroclus was the beloved one is a foolish error into which Aeschylus has fallen, for Achilles was surely the fairer of the two, fairer also than all the other heroes; and as Homer informs us, he was still beardless and younger far). And greatly as the gods honor the virtue of love, still the return of love on the part of the beloved to the lover is more admired and valued and rewarded by them, for the lover is more divine, because he is inspired by God."**_

_**"Now Achilles was quite aware, for he had been told by his mother, that he might avoid death and return home and live to a good old age, if he abstained from slaying Hector. Nevertheless, he gave his life to revenge his friend, and dared to die, not only in his defense, but after he was dead. Wherefore–"**_

_L paused suddenly, his ears picking up the sound of loud, angry squawking that made its way to the bedroom._

_"What do you suppose that's about?" Light pondered out loud, raising his head a little._

_"Just a lover's quarrel." L affirmed; but remained silent so they could listen to make sure._

_"Go check on them."_

_"Light-kun . . . "_

_"Please?" Light entreated, a little alarmed at the extended duration of the noise._

_L let out a long exhale of breath. "By the time I get there, it will have passed."_

_"That's what you said _last _time, and we ended up having to separate them. I don't want a dead bird in the morning." _

_"If it will make Light-kun happy," L said, giving in when Light became restless underneath him. He freed his arms from underneath the brunet and pushed harder than was necessary at Light's back as he crawled down toward the end of the bed backwards to extend his legs to the carpet._

_Light placed the book face down, and went to check his watch on the table._

_"Don't bother. That's it until I see you again." L shot at him crossly as he practically stomped out of the bedroom and toward the living area. Light watched him as he made his way down the dark hallway and turned off around a corner, surprised at the moody reaction._

_Coinciding with what he assumed was L's arrival, the outraged screeching of their birds ceased abruptly. A moment later, he could hear L's low whistling, followed by their calm singing in response._

_Light waited patiently for the older man to rematerialize around the corner; seeing first only flashes of the dim bedroom light as it was reflected back at him by large, nocturnal eyes before the rest of L's physical form broke through the darkness. His face was last – blank despite the inexplicable irritation Light knew was there._

_"You know, it's not like you can't stay another night," he tried in a soothing voice, speaking half into the pillow he hugged under his head. "Leave day after tomorrow instead. Georgi won't know the difference."_

_L stopped short of reentering the bedroom, and instead opted to lean his right shoulder against the doorframe casually. "No, she won't. But I'm not going home once I leave here. I have some business to attend to in the states, and I can't put it off."_

_"So I'll go with you, then. I have a few more days vacation before I have to go back to work, and I can cancel dinner with my family. I'll fly home by myself Sunday."_

_L appeared to think this over, pressing at his lower lip with a finger before voicing his decision around it. "No. I don't think so."_

_Light waited for an explanation before realizing none was coming. " . . . is there a reason?"_

_"No."_

_"Meaning there is, but I'm not entitled to it?"_

_L gave a boyishly indifferent shrug of his shoulders before bowing his head to stare down at his half-hearted erection. He ignored Light, preferring to idle there in the doorway and occupy himself with the skin concealing all but the very tip of his crown – gliding it back and forth leisurely as if he were playing peek-a-boo with it._

_Light observed, accustomed to the habit. He giggled softly. "Kawakamuri"_

_" . . . Peel," L tried translating. " . . . what?"_

_"Not peel, Ryu. Skin. It means you're not supposed to leave yourself covered like that when you're in front of other men. It's Japanese custom to retract your foreskin so it looks like you're circumcised."_

_L demonstrated on himself, peeling light-colored skin back to expose pinkish, wet glans entirely and leaving it there. "I've never heard of that." He mused out loud, turning a bit this way and that as if he were trying on a pair of underwear or a piece of clothing._

_"Why would you? I don't imagine you're the type to participate in public bathing."_

_"Never been." L confirmed in a low, bored voice. He gave his skin a little push back into place, and resumed toying with it – pulling and rolling between his fingers._

_"It's . . . strange. Seeing a bunch of men walking around with their foreskin retracted like their heads were trophies to be admired by all. My father took me when I was young, which is one of the reasons why I had to get circumcised."_

_"Too tight?"_

_"Yeah. And since it's considered a grave insult not to retract – off to the butcher I went, so to speak."_

_L grinned to himself, getting a kick out of that as he messed about with his intact piece of anatomy. "How old were you?"_

_"Thirteen?" Light asked himself, searching his mind for confirmation as he flipped over onto his back. "Yeah, thirteen. Pain like you wouldn't believe. It took weeks to heal properly, and coupled with it drying out . . . I couldn't stand it. I'd come home from school and go straight to the bathroom to wrap a warm towel around it." Light propped his head up on the pillow behind him so he could look down at himself. He traced the visible pinkish scar with a finger._

_"I hated my father for that. It was a senseless reaction to a fucked up ritual. Left me scarred not only physically; but mentally too. I was self-conscious about it for _years _– wouldn't shower in front of other people . . . didn't date . . . and the first time I jerked off after the surgery? It was so horrible, I wanted to shoot myself."_

_A tiny coughing sound could be heard, and Light glanced over to find L doing his best not to laugh at the brunet. He slit his eyes at the detective. "I don't know _why _I expected anything else but the _wrong _reaction out of you."_

_L turned to flatten his back against the doorframe, and looked over to Light; his cheeks flush with laughter. "I'm sorry. Maybe if you had phrased it differently, it wouldn't have been as amusing to me. Don't be so sensitive."_

_He took a breath, and straightened to touch the back of his head to the wood; his hands leaving himself to go behind him and curl around the frame edges. Like he belonged in some centerfold – right leg bent provocatively, length thick and hard from his own touch, and his confident eyes shining into Light's in promise._

_"But you don't seem to have a problem with it now?" he added._

_"I'm over it now. I'm twenty-six years old – the time for Foreskin Lamentation is long gone. I don't even know _why _I told you, honestly." As if he could make the man go away, Light snapped his head the opposite way to frown at the window._

_"Light-kun looks pitiful when he wilts." L cooed in a gentle, husky voice._

_"I'm not wilting. I'm brooding. There's a difference."_

_"You're wilting."_

_"I am not." Light countered childishly, watching L's reflection through the window glass as he clasped his length at the base with a hand he couldn't see and sort of jiggled it, looking entirely too fascinated with the way it managed to hold up its own considerable weight._

_"I'll read to you anyway, if you like. I don't mind," L said, stabbing in the dark for amends._

_"No."_

_"Shall we skip to the sex, then? I'll do that rocking thing Light-kun likes so much," he tried again, patient and hopeful._

_"No," Light said slowly, his voice tight. "No, I don't think so."_

_The dull thump of L banging his head back against the frame preceded a lonely little sigh. "I know what you want, and as much as I'm sure it displeases you to hear, the answer is still no. I'll be too busy to make time for you, and you'll only distract me."_

_L's half-assed explanation got Light's attention, and he shifted his eyes to exchange reflection for flesh and blood. "When has my presence _ever _hindered instead of helped you? I'm just as capable of being __**'L'**__ as you are, remember."_

_Densely colored-in eyes no longer focused on him; but instead caught their own reflection in the window Light had just abandoned, and stayed there. Emptiness fell away briefly, and a look of profound realization crossed over L's features – its presence evanescent and fleeting. The look of one of those moments in time that was so fragile, it would vanish the instant human thought attempted to touch it; leaving anyone foolish enough to try hopelessly ensnared in his chase to find it again._

_Light let him be, content to watch the play of internal thought on his small face until a heavy disquiet settled over him. It lingered, showing no signs of giving L back; so Light sat up to put himself between window and fixed eyes. And when fixed eyes just stared passed him, he moved from his spot to pad the few steps between bed and detective – filling the doorway and attaching his spine to the opposite frame._

_If L noticed he'd moved, he didn't appear to show it. He remained just as he'd been a minute ago, his face now in profile from where Light stood._

_Light leaned to his left a little, and craned his head to get a closer look. L's eyes, he could see, were only half open; and they weren't fixed as they had appeared to be, but were oscillating back and forth in their sockets in such small movements that he'd missed it. And his breathing had slowed, the rise and fall of his chest so sluggish it was almost indiscernible._

_It took several seconds before it dawned on Light that the man had fallen asleep._

_He opened his mouth to call his name; but snapped it shut immediately before any sound escaped. Instead, he looked over to his left at the bed – contemplating whether or not he would be able to get L into it without waking him. It wasn't far, and Light was sure he could carry him if he had to._

_His decision to attempt it made, he turned his attention to L's hand, its bony fingers still clinging to his erection. Not so tightly that he'd have to pry them free, so he only lightly took hold of his wrist and tried to ease his hand away._

_L startled at the intrusion and snatched his hand back, the sudden movement in turn startling Light backward a bit. Defeated, he straightened to meet the now awake detective's gaze._

_"You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you."_

_L blinked sleepily, and then again quickly as if to clear his eyes and make himself more alert. He gave the younger man now in front of him a curious once over, making it clear that he had no idea how Light had gotten so close._

_"You've been faking," Light accused kindly, leaning back to his side of the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. "The whole week?"_

_L rubbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Of course not. Just last night." He scratched behind his ear next, his attention going to the floor between them. "And the night before."_

_"I got it. And what is it you're doing instead of sleeping?"_

_His head fell a little lower, several strands of hair falling over his eyes all at once. "Nothing," he yawned. "I just don't . . . want to waste time sleeping."_

_" . . . L . . . " Light groaned at him, shaking his head reprovingly as if he were about to take the man to task and couldn't quite figure out how. He averted his eyes to the ceiling above him, and let out a frustrated sigh. "You're not wasting anything. It's not as if you disappear."_

_"Don't I?" L asked seriously, watching as he buried his toes in the carpet._

_"No," Light assured with a faint chuckle. He reached out to smooth one of two too-long shocks of hair that hung low on either side of L's face. "You're still here." He tugged on the other with his other hand. "And so is this mess you were supposed to cut off weeks ago. Growing it out again?"_

_Wearied blacks slid to the tops of their sockets to peek at him through likewise colored fringe, a cynical smirk tugging at his lips. "You dislike it?"_

_Closing the distance of the doorway between them, Light pressed his back against the wall beside L. He reached over to part that dark shroud and placed a kiss on unveiled porcelain. "I don't care one way or the other. Whatever you do, I'll like it."_

_As if to convince him, Light combed his fingers gently through inky layers until knots at the ends hindered his progress. L tipped his head back at the tender pulling, and closed his eyes when Light pressed another kiss to his temple._

_"What you look like makes no difference to me."_

_"Ahhh, so Light-kun just wants me for my mind?" L asked lazily, seemingly content in the way the brunet doted on him._

_"He does," he breathed against a pale cheek. "What a shallow bastard he must be."_

_" . . . must be," L repeated in a sleepy whisper, shifting his weight to lean over and rest his head on Light's shoulder. "I've always wondered how the birds sleep like this," he droned on randomly to himself. " . . . but it's not so bad."_

_"Ah," Light agreed as he reached down between them to thread his fingers with L's. With a sigh, he lay his cheek on the thick jumble of strands that defied gravity regularly. "I'm not catching you when you fall." _

_A low vibration of subdued laughter answered him. "I won't."

* * *

_

_"I'm sleeping here."_

Light heard the announcement seep into his dream just as he felt tugging on the bed clothes at his feet, and then the shifting of the mattress that indicated the arrival of a bed partner. Warm flesh and bony knees scaled their way to the top of the bed and then up his legs. He felt the boy's tiny hands push against his thighs, his ass, and then the small of his back as Kai tested all the mounds and valleys under the covers, as if Light's body was riddled with landmines and one wrong move would make him explode. Inch by inch, he moved up until bumps and hills turned into the flat plains of Light's back, and there he settled himself on his belly like some panther who'd found the perfect branch to nap on.

His head was the last to find comfort – turning this way and then the other way on Light's shoulder blade before he inched up just a little more to lay it comfortably between shoulder and neck. He faced away from Light, so all he could see was a familiar blot of black hair in his peripheral vision.

"So who lets you sleep on their back?" Light asked softly when the boy finally stopped squirming.

"Father does, but he's not as squishy as you." Malakai replied in a voice that very obviously belonged to a young boy, but still managed to have those husky undertones of L's.

He had a lot of L in him, really. As if he were a clone of the man, instead of the result of his parents mating. Of course, Light knew he was natural; but that didn't stop him from wondering at it every so often. How could he not? Malakai had it all – pale coloring, sable hair, blown pupils. He lacked that horrid looking insomniac skin under L's eyes, thankfully; but everything else had made the transfer from father to son intact.

Even some of the detective's mannerisms and temperament Kai had – like a certain way L would cock his head as if he were a deer listening in the wind, or that habit of sulking when he didn't get his way right at that very moment. And when he'd had enough of whatever his parents were telling him, he'd do that dismissal thing with his hand just like his father did when it was time for Light to shut up. Not that it ever worked, considering both his parents had _Corner!_ power over him, but he tried just the same.

It was like watching L – past and present. It gave him an opportunity, he liked to think, to see what the quirky bastard would have been like if they'd been boyhood friends instead of meeting so late in life, so seeing the two together was always a real (often highly amusing yet sometimes mischievous) treat.

Maybe when L got too old, Light would replace him with his younger son.

"Ah. And you don't still, uh . . . wet the bed or anything like that, do you?"

His little chest expanded against Light's spine and then deflated in a dramatic sigh, as if he'd just been asked the lamest question in all the world. "Not since I was five. I'm too old for that, now."

Funny, Light had always thought that seven year olds were the prime suspects. But he wasn't that familiar with children . . . only L's kids. So what did he know?

"I peed on Father once," he continued in short bursts. "It was an accident, though." His head turned suddenly, lilliputian fingers brushing the hair around Light's ear away so he could whisper his secret into it. "'Cause I got an extra glass of strawberry milk." He explained in a hushed voice, his breath hot little puffs of air against Light's skin.

Light knew better. "You mean, because you _snuck_ an extra glass when you thought everyone was asleep."

"Yes," Kai admitted shamelessly.

"Just like you snuck out of your own bed to come here?"

"I wasn't in my bed," he answered in a haughty voice. "I was in Grandpa's bed, and he makes loud noises when he sleeps."

Light had no argument against that, because frankly he couldn't blame the boy. Even his father, who wasn't nearly as old as Watari, could make some pretty disturbing sounds in the middle of the night. Everyone had their embarrassing noises, but there was definitely something about old-age that amplified them.

And did he really want to refuse the boy because of some half-baked notion of propriety when he'd just lost his mother? He knew showing the boy pity was the wrong thing to do, but so was turning him away when he was clearly seeking out some form of companionship.

"He's not dead, is he?"

Light froze at the worry expressed in the child's tone, unsure of how to respond. "Who?" he asked, buying himself time.

"Xander."

Light turned and lifted his head to find his bird belly-up on the bedside table next to his watch, one tiny foot twitching in the air. He'd apparently fallen over halfway to his cage. "No, that's how he sleeps sometimes."

Malakai shifted to Light's other shoulder, closer to the bird. "Is he dreaming?" he asked curiously, his eyes intent on the animal.

"It's possible." He hadn't the faintest. "What do you suppose he dreams about?"

"Hmmm," L's offspring pondered out loud. "Berries. And . . . a fig tree. And Phaestion."

"A fig tree?" Light asked, deliberately steering the conversation away from the other bird, and ultimately its owner. Mentioning anything that related directly to home was just a bad idea.

"Figs are a part of their diet," he explained as he settled back against Light's back. "I have a book about lovebird breeds. Want to see it?"

Light had no doubt that the boy could keep him up all night if he let him break out a book or some such possession of his. "Maybe tomorrow you can show me," he offered instead.

"You're going to see Father tomorrow, aren't you?"

_Fuck me_, Light cursed himself, but the boy was sharp. "In the morning before I leave, then."

He felt a sarcastic noise bubble up from Kai's chest. "We'll see."

The brunet found the kid's choice of response interesting. Not _Promise?_ or _Okay_, but _We'll see_. He didn't believe for a second that Light would hold to his word come morning, and he made no effort at all to hide the fact.

Precocious little jerk.

Maybe he'd better have a look at the damned thing after all; because being a _Breaker of Promises_ was the worst thing anyone could be in the mind of a child. Especially one that could read right through an adult's lies like they were tracing paper.

Deep, even breathing told him that the pale-skinned monkey on his back was sound asleep, just that fast. His open-mouthed face lay attached to Light's shoulder, his breath warm and moist on his bare skin. Despite that, Light found himself glad for the company. Otherwise, he would have woken up eventually anyway, and most likely lain here and thought himself to death.

He was still relatively numb from the initial shock of having the news of Georgi's passing tossed at him so suddenly, but it was fast approaching that point of sinking in like a spill left on the carpet too long. And when it did, Light really wasn't sure how he would react. He'd never really lost anyone before, aside from old relatives whose death was more or less expected. The kind of people you just shrugged your shoulders at, commented that _That's too bad_, and moved on.

Not anyone as young as Georgi, or with whom he'd spent any respectable amount of time with. Good time, too. The kind of time one looked back on with a smile instead of a _What the hell was I thinking? _puss on their face. She'd been what they call good people – someone pure and empathetic and willing to help anyone who'd crossed her path, who hadn't deserved the kind of animosity he'd given her that he now felt guilty over.

To say that he'd shown her his bad side when she'd first come into the picture was the understatement of the century. He'd done some seriously fucked up things to that girl – every hateful thing he could conjure up without coming right out and throwing what he'd desperately wanted to tell her right in her face. All because he'd been young and stupid and so _angry _at L for putting him in that position that he could've killed Georgi if he'd known he would have gotten away with it.

She'd taken it all in stride, and had never breathed a word of any of his douchebaggery to L. A decision that had solidified his respect for her for life. And then sudden circumstances found them friends, and it was all water under the bridge. She pretended he wasn't a total ass, he made an effort for the sake of his relationship with L, and things just went from there.

Malakai shifted, giving his pajama bottoms a few half-hearted kicks and shoving his hot little hands under Light's shoulders like he would a pillow. He let out a long breath, as if the effort had exhausted his small body, and then he was still again.

All this because L had gotten a wild hair up his ass about having children, and the man had stubbornly refused to consider _any_ alternative form of reproduction that fell short of _the whole shebang_. Now look where that idea had gotten them. Good and fucked.

L would, Light knew, argue that point with him if he weren't smack in the middle of it all, even if only to play Devil's Advocate. He imagined the detective getting up on his soapbox and spouting that 'greater good for the greater number of people' bullshit. The loss of one innocent is surely balanced by her creation of two more for the greater society . . .

Light turned his head the other way, in search of a cool spot on the pillow, and tried to think about something else so he didn't have to go down that road yet.

He really needed to go back to sleep, but he wasn't looking forward to anymore of those recollective dreams that always plagued him right before he knew he was going to see L. Not now, when things between them might not resemble what they had once been. Their relationship had never been perfect – not even close – but its past incarnation seemed like a walk in the park when compared to what it might become now, even _with_ all the secrets and the lies they'd both perpetrated for the sake of a little time together.

The last thing Light needed was his brain rubbing it in every chance it got. You don't show a man dying of thirst in the middle of the desert an oasis filled with succulent palm trees and sparkling water, and then take it away with a _ha ha, fooled ya fucker! _It was bad enough that Life liked to play its dirty tricks on him; did he really need his own mind conspiring against him too?

Before he could answer himself, the rhythmic breathing of the warm body settled on his back sent Light promptly into a thankfully dreamless sleep.


End file.
